


The Adventure Of The Sunken Parsley (The Abernetty Affair)

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [82]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Codes & Ciphers, F/M, Kidnapping, London, M/M, Romance, Servants, Slow Burn, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 04:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: The other of Sherlock's two most famous unpublished cases, namely why the parsley sank so far into the butter. And Watson does not sulk, so there!





	The Adventure Of The Sunken Parsley (The Abernetty Affair)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [otala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/otala/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

Being busy with keeping notes for my brother Sherlock's many cases, Watson only maintained a rough count of which of the many unpublished cases he had mentioned in passing drew the most attention from his 'Sherlockians'. Far and away the two most requested were, of course, the already covered case of the light-house, the politician and the trained cormorant, and this one the Abernetty Affair, remembered as to the mystery of why the parsley sank so far into the butter. It is with great pleasure that the 'dashing hero' involved has finally overcome his embarrassment at the time and agreed that his story can be published.

This was Sherlock's only unpublished case that year, and took place some months after the case recorded as _The Dancing Men._

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

There were, as my readers may have worked out, several cases where Holmes' involvement came about because someone involved was related to a person from a previous case. Oddly enough it was another set of unusual names that led into what was arguably the most famous case not to make the original set of my great friend's adventures. It arose from the wonderfully named Mr. Ptolemy Seleucus Antiochus Wilson, the district messenger whom my friend had helped some thirteen years back. Readers will remember that he had been possessed of two younger half-brothers both of whom Holmes had helped find employment, and it was the younger of these gentlemen who was now in need of assistance. 

Apart from his youth, Mr. Lysander Theseus Pericles Wilson was the very epitome of the English butler, I thought, as the young blond man sat in the famous fireside chair in Baker Street. And nothing like his half-brother; the younger Mr. Wilson was some twenty-seven years of age at this time and verging on debonair. His whole character seemed to be that of a very solid young fellow – a direct contrast with the matter had had just laid before us, which was as insubstantial as a summer breeze.

“I can see by the expression on the doctor's face that he does not consider that you have given us much to go on”, Holmes smiled. “A small piece of herbage dutifully obeying the laws laid down by the great Sir Isaac Newton – it seems only natural. But let us go through the sequence of events such as they are, and see what else we can see. Tell us about your employers.”

“I must thank you again for helping me secure that position with Lord Pendragon”, our visitor said. “As you are doubtless aware he and his family emigrated to the United States in March. I did not wish to go with them, but fortunately their cousins the Abernettys were just about to see their butler retire, and they recommended me to the post. Despite my relative youth – and yes, doctor, I know butlers should be at least forty years of age! - I was given the post.”

My face reddened. I had been thinking exactly that. Holmes looked at me knowingly.

“Where do your new employers live?” he asked.

“A fair-sized place called Whitsun House, near Alexandra Palace”, he said. “It is a most exclusive area, and the family is quite rich. When I started in May it consisted of old Mr. Silas Abernetty, his grand-daughter Wilhelmina who was then nineteen years of age, Mr. Abernetty's niece Mrs. Barlow and her husband. Neither of those two are blood relatives; Mrs. Barlow was married to Mr. Abernetty's nephew Mr. Gareth and he died in a railway accident. She and Mr. Barlow all but ran the household then, fully after old Mr. Abernetty died in July. Old age; he was over eighty and the doctor was frankly surprised that he had made it that far. He indulged in many foods that were bad for him, especially sweets.”

“What happened to young Miss Abernetty's parents?” I inquired.

“Mr. Silas Abernetty's only son William was in the Army”, Mr. Wilson said, “and died in that awful war against the Boers in the eighties. I believe that his wife and the late Mr. Abernetty did not get on, and it worsened when she remarried within months of Mr. William's death and chose to stay in Africa. Young Miss Abernetty was sent back to England as she was heiress to the estate.”

Holmes looked at him thoughtfully.

“Do you happen to know who is next in line after Miss Abernetty?” he asked. 

“Mrs. Balcombe the cook mentioned that there is a cousin living somewhere in the North of England, sirs”, he said. “She did not know where. She did say that he has never visited the house, and did not even get invited to the funeral. Apparently Mrs. Barlow is not overly enamoured of the gentleman.”

“Curious”, Holmes said. “What is your opinion of young Miss Abernetty, pray?”

The young man blushed.

“I have only seen her a few times”, he said. “She is not really your typical teenager I would say; blonde, thin, learned and very quiet. She keeps to her own rooms and does not go out. Mrs. Barlow is, ahem, rather strict.”

“And Mrs. Barlow – or her husband – still runs the estate for her?” Holmes asked.

“Mrs. Balcombe believes that the estate was left jointly to her and the family lawyer to run”, the butler said. He extracted a notebook. “But to the events that bring me here. I should explain that I have a small room in the servants' quarters at Whitsun House. It is not locked as I have little there worth taking; besides I have lodgings some three streets away.”

“At what address?” Holmes asked.

“Number ninety-nine Connecticut Crescent, in Maida Vale.”

“Pray continue.”

“On Thursday October the fourth, someone entered my room at the house, and looked through my few possessions.”

“How do you know that?” I asked. He blushed again.

“I am something of a fan of your works”, he said to me, looking far too ashamed for exhibiting such excellent taste ('someone' was smirking again, damn him!). “I always arrange my 'Strand” magazines in order of publication, and I have a bookmark to show where I am up to. That particular day I returned to my room, and not only were the books out of sequence but the bookmark had fallen out. I eventually found it under the chair on the other side of the room, which I rarely use. I would not have mentioned it, but I know from your writings that small things are sometimes important. And this was the day before the incident of the butter.”

“Go on”, Holmes said.

“The next day Betty, the maid, took up some bread and butter for young Miss Abernetty”, he said. “It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, and she or Mrs. Barlow always sent down for cakes or refreshments of some sort around that time. Betty took them to Mrs. Barlow's room, which is next door to Miss Abernetty's. When she came back, she said that Mrs. Barlow and her husband had been having 'a blazing row', and that the lady had told her to come back for the tray in an hour or so. She did and then returned to the kitchen where Mrs. Balcombe and I were taking tea. Miss Abernetty had eaten the bread and, I recall, used some of the butter, but the rest of the butter was partly melted. The parsley had sunk right into it.”

“In just one hour?” I said, surprised.

“That was what was so odd”, our visitor said. “No-one thought much about it at the time however, because of the fair.”

“What fair?” Holmes asked. The man blushed.

“I am sorry”, he said. “Tolly warned me when I said I might approach you that I should not ramble. The next day there was to be a fair held in the palace grounds. Mrs. Barlow had promised that we could all go in the afternoon if we had got everything done in the morning. However, that morning Mr. Barlow came down and told us that his wife had 'moved out for some time'. We all thought that that was our day out gone, but he said that if we prepared him a cold tea then we could go after all as he would welcome the peace and quiet. Naturally no-one argued.”

“Naturally”, Holmes smiled. “Two more questions, if I may. Is young Miss Abernetty seeing anyone?”

“Not a chance with those two watchdogs!” the butler said fervently. “But with her wealth I would expect lots of people to want to marry her. Especially if they could do so before she comes of age, and get control of her fortune.”

“I see”, Holmes said. “And to finish. Did Mrs. Barlow take any of the servants with her?”

Our guest frowned.

“That was another odd thing now you say that”, he said. “Tom – Mr. Thompson, Mr. Barlow's valet – went with her, along with her own maid, Judith. I believe that she and her husband have a house in Epping, up in Essex, so I suppose that she went there.”

“Indeed”, Holmes said. “Your case is rather more complicated than some rapidly-sinking herbage, Mr. Wilson. Thank you for bringing it to our attention. We shall indeed investigate it – but I should warn you, do not mention your visit here to anyone in Whitsun House. Not even to those you think that you may be able to trust.”

“I promise”, the butler said.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

To my surprise Holmes did not seem to actually do much in pursuit of the Abernetty Affair over the next few days. Indeed, the next development was a further visit from Mr. Wilson precisely one week later.

“It is my half-day”, he explained, “and I did not want to attract suspicion by trying to contact you sooner.”

“What has happened?” Holmes asked.

“Nothing at the house”, our visitor said, “but I found something when I was tidying my room the other day. You will remember how I said that some of my magazines had been put back out of order?”

“Yes?” I said.

“I was looking for a particular story, when I realized that some of them were missing”, he said. One from each of four stories was not there. The weird thing was that when I looked for them, I found them almost immediately. Someone had placed them in an empty drawer in my wardrobe. I just do not see why.”

Holmes wandered back over to the window and gazed out onto the street. He had done that just after the butler arrived, I noticed. I wondered why.

“Which stories?” he asked without turning round. The butler took out and opened his notebook.

“It was Part Four from each of four stories”, he said. “ _The Copper Beeches, The Red-Headed League, The Five Orange Pips_ and _The Noble Bachelor”._

I was becoming skilled (or perhaps just better) at reading Holmes' face at times like these. Though there was not even the slightest twitch, I somehow knew that he had gathered something from that list. 

“Make a note of those, doctor”, he said unnecessarily. “They may be important. Tell me Mr. Wilson, would either of the Barlows have had cause to enter your room for any reason?”

“No, sir. Though as the master and mistress of the house they have the right to do if they so wish. As I said, I keep nothing there except for my books and magazines.”

“Why do you keep them there rather than at your lodgings?” I asked.

“One of my fellow lodgers is rather light-fingered”, he said, blushing a little. “The only thing I own of any real value is a watch that I inherited from my father, and I keep that at the house as well.”

Holmes thought for a moment, then leant forward.

“Mr. Wilson”, he said, “we are entering an important phase in this investigation. You were right to take care and not to rush over here before today. However, it is my belief that for all that you have found so far, there may be an additional message located somewhere in your room. You must return to Whitsun House and search your room thoroughly, from top to bottom. If you do find something, be sure that no-one is around to witness it and tell no-one, not even your fellow servants. Act as sagely as you have thus far, and use your next half-day to go to the telegraph office to communicate any findings with us.”

The man's eyes widened in fear.

“Not come here?” he said.

Holmes stood and went over to the window.

“You may have been followed here today”, he said. “That man down in the clothes-shop doorway is Carlson, a professional watcher. He was not there when you arrived – I checked – so presumably he lost touch with you somewhere and guessed that you might come here. The doctor will escort you out the back way and show you the footpath across the railway to the Park. Is there anything else?”

The young man scratched his head.

“Well, there was the chocolate éclair.” 

I stared at him in surprise. This seemed to be becoming a very food-related case.

“What about it?” Holmes asked.

“Miss Abernetty does not like anything with chocolate on, you see. But we had a new maid start that week, Phyllis, and she took some out of the pantry for her. A good thing Mrs. Barlow wasn't there; she was always very strict about the poor girl's diet though I always thought that was because it meant more food for her. Yet when the plate came back down, both éclairs were gone.”

“Possibly Mr. Barlow ate them?” I suggested. The butler shook his head.

“He was downstairs at the time, writing.”

“And no-one to guard the precious Miss Abernetty”, Holmes observed. “Thank you, Mr. Wilson. The doctor will show you out now.”

I did, taking the man out through the back door as requested. I noticed as we left that Holmes was once more watching the street from the window, but did not remark on the fact. Our guest was nervous enough as it was.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“So what was with the magazines?” I asked on my return.

“A cry for help”, he said. “Cleverly done, too. Let us hope that it has not come too late.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“If you exclude the prepositions and take the fourth letter of each title, you find the letters 'H'. 'E', 'L' and 'P'”, he said. “Someone entered Mr. Wilson's room and deliberately selected those magazines, hoping both that he would come here and that he would convey their message. Someone who had reason to fear they might be watched, and that the room might even be checked afterwards for any obvious message.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Clearly it was young Miss Abernetty”, he said. “Consider the chain of events. Her grandfather dies and his estate falls into the hands of his niece and her husband. They will be in control for a year at most before their charge comes of age. Assuming that they have the lawyer in their pocket they can use that time to strip it bare – but there is a problem. Their charge will not do as she is told. The law has, thankfully, progressed somewhat and the signature of someone who is over eighteen but not yet twenty-one is needed on most documents.”

“She is being held prisoner?” I gasped. He nodded.

“It seems so”, he said gravely. “I really would like to search Mr. Wilson's room thoroughly myself as I am sure that I would find her message more easily, but any suspicion of my involvement in the case would endanger young Miss Abernetty's life.”

“But if they killed her, the cousin would inherit”, I pointed out. 

“That may not stop them”, he said. “This is difficult. I would like to find out more about this cousin, but I fear that Mr. Wilson may call on me at any time despite my warning, and I do not want to leave Baker Street.”

“I can go to Somerset House”, I offered. “It is not far, and would not take me long.”

He smiled at me.

“Thank you, Watson.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

A couple of hours later I hurried up the stairs and fairly burst through the door. Holmes looked up in surprise.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I found the cousin!” I panted. “A first cousin once removed, descended from the late Mr. Abernetty's father James. He is a factory-owner called Mr. Gustavus Abernetty, and he moved down South six months ago. Guess where?”

“Epping”, Holmes said blithely.

I do not think that I have ever deflated so fast.

“You knew!” I said accusingly.

“I suspected”, he grinned. “Tell me what you found out about this new Abernetty.”

“He is forty-five years of age'”, I said. “A widower; he married an heiress called Miss Burwood and inherited his factories from her, but sold nearly all of them off after she died two years back except for a highly profitable one in London which he still owns. They make buttons.”

“A widower”, Holmes said. “That is much more serious.”

“Why?” I asked, puzzled.

“Because the Church of England would not prevent him from marrying his cousin in order to keep the estate in the family”, Holmes said grimly. “Their rules on such things are archaic, and I am sure that the Barlows could find a priest to carry out the ceremony even if the girl made it quite clear that it was against her wishes.”

“Such a travesty would be overturned by any court!” I protested.

“Who would challenge it?” Holmes said. “There would be no-one to defend the girl's interests, and I feel fairly certain that the poor thing would 'have an accident' not long after the wedding, in which case all her worldly goods would become her husband's. Except for a generous cut that he would doubtless pass onto the Barlows.”

“We would challenge it!” I said hotly.

“But they do not know of our involvement yet, and for her safety we must keep it that way”, Holmes reminded me. “I wonder what Mr. Wilson will find when he gets back to Alexandra Palace tonight?”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Another week passed, and still Holmes seemed surprisingly disinterested in doing anything in the case. Saturday was Mr. Wilson's day off and I wondered if he would call round despite the warning not to. The morning passed butler-less, but just after lunch he was announced.

“You were right on both counts, Mr. Holmes”, he said breathlessly. “I did find something, a note taped behind the chest of drawers.”

He handed it to Holmes who read it quickly before passing it to me:

'They want me to marry my cousin Gustavus. He is old, fat, bald and disgusting. I refused, but they said that they would do it anyway. I am afraid that they will drug me and bribe a priest to do it for them. Help me!  
Wilhelmina Abernetty (Miss)'

“You were right”, I told Holmes. “What now?”

“Where is Miss Abernetty?” Holmes asked urgently.

“She and Mr. Barlow had gone out for a drive when I left”, the butler said nervously. “You do not think....”

“This has gone on long enough”, Holmes said grimly. “We will effect a rescue of the poor girl at once! Mr. Wilson, we will need your help.”

“Of course”, the butler said stoutly. “Er, how?”

“Because only you can recognize Miss Abernetty”, he said, as if it were obvious. “Come, doctor. We shall take a cab and fetch the girl from the clutches of those so-called 'guardians' of hers!”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“I was followed”, Mr. Wilson said. “But I went to Palace Gates Station and boarded a train at the back, then jumped out the other side and hid behind it. My pursuer didn't get off, and I went to the Palace station on the Great Northern line instead. I only hope that I shook him off.”

“There was no-one outside when we left Baker Street”, Holmes said. “I must say that this was all very cleverly planned. The Barlows knew that young Miss Abernetty would not fall in with their scheme to strip the estate bare, so they decided to force her into marriage with her cousin who, I am sorry to say, was all too willing to go along with this shameful scheme.”

“Despicable!” I ground out. Mr. Wilson nodded in agreement.

“They planned to remove her from the house and substitute Mrs. Barlow for a short time”, Holmes went on. “The idea was that, a day before the fair, Mr. and Mrs. Barlow would stage a huge argument, after which the latter would storm out and go to the house in Chingford. When all the servants were away at the fair the following day, a drugged Miss Abernetty would be smuggled from the house and taken to Chingford and Mrs. Barlow would take her place. Their watch on the girl was so close, the servants would not think it unusual not to see her for a while. Their only mistake in that was when Mrs. Barlow forgot she was supposed to actually be Miss Abernetty, and ate those two chocolate éclairs.”

“However, young Miss Abernetty chanced to overhear their scheming and made counter-plans of her own. She knew that some of the servants were in the pay of her grasping relatives, so she alighted on the newcomer as her best choice. She was the one who went into your room and artfully rearranged your books, moved certain magazines, and left the message behind the drawer. She also chose you because of your interest in my work, hoping – correctly – that her 'breaking and entering' would intrigue you enough to come to me.”

“She then returned to her room and ordered a plate of bread and butter. But she deliberately placed the plate over a table-lamp so that it partly melted. She foresaw, again correctly, that you would be intrigued by something so odd.”

The butler reddened, and looked out of the window.

“We have just passed King's Cross”, he said, surprised.

“Of course”, Holmes said. “Miss Abernetty is being held prisoner in Epping. We are headed to Liverpool Street Station, from where we will effect the rescue.”

He nodded.

“We will save her!” he muttered.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The suburban train journey from Liverpool Street seemed to take forever, but at last we were steaming into the Essex town's station. I was more than a little surprised to find Inspector Gregson waiting for us outside the station. The Metropolitan Police's local stations tended as I have observed on more than one previous occasion to be fiercely territorial, and for one to affect an arrest on another's patch was considered poor form. I would have asked Holmes about it but he was clearly focussed on the task ahead.

The four of us took two cabs to a quiet street called Rosemary Avenue, and stopped some distance away from a rather ugly large brick house that, Holmes said, was where the cousin, Mr. Gustavus Abernetty, lived. To my surprise there was a cab waiting outside it, and as the four of us approached, two men and a woman came out of the house, the men dragging a barely-conscious girl between them.

“That is her!” Mr. Wilson ground out. “Miss Abernetty! Stop!”

The three people looked up at his shout, and the woman immediately ran back into the house and slammed the door. The younger of the two men dropped his hold of the girl and advanced, but a clearly furious Mr. Wilson stepped forward and punched him so hard he fell to the floor motionless, moaning softly. Inspector Gregson quickly had his cuffs out and on the older man, who offered no resistance. One of the policeman hurried into the house after the woman, whilst a second one raced around the back presumably to prevent any escape that way.

“Mr. Thomas Thompson, Mr. Gustavus Abernetty”, the inspector said grimly. “I arrest you both in the name of the law. I will remind you that anything you say can and will be used in evidence against you.”

Mr. Gustavus Abernetty growled whilst Mr. Thompson moaned again. Holmes, apparently the only one of us with any sense, had rushed forward to help up the fallen girl who uttered a pitiful cry. Mr. Wilson hurried to assist him.

“I really think that it would be best if you take young Miss. Abernetty home right now”, Holmes said to the butler. “She has been through a most shocking ordeal. I am sure that the inspector can collect any testimony from her a little later, once she is fully recovered.”

“That would be... nice”, the young lady said faintly, before looking vaguely at Mr. Wilson. “Do I know you?”

“Wilson, your butler, madam”, the man said, easily taking the girl's full weight as Holmes stood back. “Do not worry. You are safe now.”

“Oh yes”, she giggled (I guessed that she had indeed been drugged). “Sandy. My hero!”

She giggled again and all but draped herself over the poor butler, who flushed bright red. Fortunately he was easily able to bear her weight, and with my help they made it to the cab and were driven off. 

What happened next left me speechless.

Once the cab was out of sight, the downed Mr. Thompson scrambled to his feet, apparently effecting a Lazarine recovery, and the other woman – the maid, Judith, I remembered – came out of the house and walked up to Holmes. Inspector Gregson swiftly removed the cuffs from Mr. Gustavus Abernetty. Holmes smiled at them all.

“Thank you for all your help these past few weeks”, he said, handing each of the three some notes. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Doctor”, the inspector whispered from behind me, “your mouth is hanging open!”

I walked round and stood in front of Holmes, who looked at me innocently as the three people ambled back into the house. The inspector was chatting amiably with his constables.

“Care to share?” I ground out. “What is going on here?”

“Why, doctor”, he smiled, “I am doing what I always do, namely protecting the interests of my client. Miss Wilhelmina Abernetty.”

I was dimly aware that I was doing that goldfish impression again, but words failed me.

“Your..... client?” I managed at last. He nodded.

“She decided very quickly that she was going to marry the handsome Mr. Wilson”, he said. “But she quickly ascertained that her quarry was of the belief that the classes do not and cannot mix. So she came to me and these last few months I, with the assistance of her most obliging family, have effected a plan to turn him from an ordinary English butler into a dashing hero who rescued her from the clutches of her evil, money-grubbing relatives.”

“Who were all in on it!” I snapped.

“Up to and including the men following Mr. Wilson, yes.”

“Why did you not tell me?” I all but shouted.

“Because you are too honest, doctor”, he said with a smile. “You wear your heart on your sleeve. And you are infinitely believable when acting out a romantic scene like this one, which we had to make Mr. Wilson believe in.”

“But what when he finds out?” I asked.

“He will not”, Holmes said. “Hence our old friend here rather than the local police, who might have actually tried to make a real arrest. Another satisfied client, I think. And I shall look forward to your writing up this case.”

“Harrumph!” I grunted.

I did not sulk all the way back to Baker Street. And someone's smirk was even more annoying than usual, damn him!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
